


(With a) Sign

by agenthill



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [25]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Deaf Character, F/F, Family Drama, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 14:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11648688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agenthill/pseuds/agenthill
Summary: As punctual as Fareeha is, she has never missed a real train, has never known what it is to run to the platform only to see that the doors have closed, and already the train is pulling away, all the other people on it and she on the outside—but she knows, nonetheless, what it must feel like.Or,With her relationship with Ana on the mend, Fareeha looks to improve the other relationships in her life, too.





	(With a) Sign

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romnovs (tashatops)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tashatops/gifts).



> Fareeha and her father are using ASL in this fic (as in the rest of this verse) because he is Canadian, and ASL is the most common form of sign language used there. Additionally, since Angela learned sign language from Fareeha, at the times she has used sign language in this verse it has been ASL, too. Somebody tried to get smart with me about this once and so now I feel the need to preface my fics with sign language with this disclaimer that I have a perfectly good reason for using ASL. Because I do. Good luck to anyone who wants to try using ESL and DSGS/SGG in a fic though, and to explain how those two would possibly be able to communicate.
> 
> Anyway, shoutout to Vicky and Calli for making me flesh out my headcanons about Fareeha's dad. Without them, this fic would never have happened. <3

One of Fareeha's earliest memories is just this: a phrase. _Train-gone._ She does not remember the context in which it was signed to her, does not remember what conversation she intruded upon, remembers only the words, signed clearly, in the smooth way her father always moves. His signs form not with the exact sharpness of her mother, nor the trembling uncertainty of Angela's attempts thusfar, but with a fluidity and seamlessness only a native could hope to achieve. Therefore, she is certain that it was he who signed those words to her, all those years ago, even if she remembers nothing else. One hand still, and flat, the other pulling away and closing, like a train leaving the station.

Did she understand what he meant, then? Probably she did, although she cannot say for certain. Now, however, she not only understands, but fears it has come to characterize their relationship. _Train-gone._ Somewhere along the line they missed something and could not catch it now even if they wanted to.

(As punctual as Fareeha is, she has never missed a real train, has never known what it is to run to the platform only to see that the doors have closed, and already the train is pulling away, all the other people on it and she on the outside—but she knows, nonetheless, what it must feel like.)

 _Train-gone_ filled her childhood as her parents discussed the Omnic crisis, then ongoing, hands always stilling when she entered a room. _What say?_ She would ask them, face scrunched with the question. What are you talking about?

And her father, in all his wisdom, would always answer her, _Train-gone._ Don't ask now, Fareeha, you've missed it, and I couldn't go back to explain if I tried.

(Her mother never said anything, when she asked, not aloud or in sign, just looked at her with an expression she cannot place to this day.)

 _Train-gone_ followed her into her teenage years, then, and the shoe was on the other foot when she and her father would go visit her mother on base. One of her mother’s comrades would tell a joke, or a funny story, and everyone would laugh, save her father, who could not lipread all of the words, given the accent, or the tone in which the tale was spoken. A question written on his face, he would turn to look at her, never quite asking, but never needing to, and she, unable to translate (and, sometimes, unwilling, tired of explaining everything, of having to hold every conversation twice) would shake her head, look him in the eye, and sign back only _Train-gone._

He never argued it, only nodded in acceptance, calm as ever.

(Sometimes, she felt guilty, felt she should have done more to ensure he was included in these conversations—sometimes, she feels guilty still. She told herself, then, that she had done as much as she could, and wonders, now, if that was true.)

 _Train-gone_ was not signed when her father came to see her in the hospital, after she lost her arm. She could not have formed the words, even if she tried, not with her single remaining hand. Only her father was there, no one to translate between them, and while she could have asked for a translator, could have requested someone be sent to help them communicate, she did not, would not, _could not_ stand to feel so helpless, not then.

If her mother had been alive then, had not 'died' four months prior, they might have asked her, but as it was Fareeha felt weak enough already, felt helpless trapped in the bed and wondering if she would ever be able to fight again. She thought, in the moment, that the situation, her injury and her inability, were proof positive that her mother had been right, that she had not been fit to serve, and to ask for help would only have left her feeling more frustrated, more vulnerable, more resentful (not of her father for being unable to hear, but at herself, for feeling as she did in the first place). So she did not ask, and though he made conversation with her, she could do little enough but stare back, unwilling to even try to communicate with only her remaining arm.

At the end of visiting hours on the second day, she asked a nurse to get her paper so she could write and tell him he could leave, and when he said it was no trouble, that he had been given family leave from work, she insisted.

And he left, face not angry, only sad. When he turned to leave, he did not look back. _Train-gone._

(Of course, things did not end there—he is not her mother, and while he may have left, he did not do so willingly, only at her request, and in the ensuing years, he has never truly been out of contact, has written her and visited whenever he is able. But things have, nonetheless, been different, and how could they not, when she sent him away?)

 _Train-gone_ has followed their relationship in the years since, not signed between them but there, a feeling, like they missed something along the way they cannot quite catch, now. But if her mother can come back from the dead, who is to say a train cannot return to the station, that whatever it was that once made she and her father close might not be returned to them, if only they try?

It is with this thought that she calls him, one day, a few months after her mother returned to her. While she might apologize, it is not her intent—unlike her father, who apologizes often, or her mother, who does so exceedingly rarely, Fareeha apologizes only when she feels it is necessary, and when she is certain it would do more good than harm.

(She knows, if she were to try to apologize, he would only apologize also, would discuss the matter as if he were equally guilty, and she would be frustrated yet again. Even if he had a role in the current state of their relationship, she feels it is her fault, not his, and would feel even guiltier if she apologized, so she will not do so. Cannot do so.)

All she wants, in this conversation, is to try and repair things, to bring herself closer to him, to be able to make herself vulnerable in front of him, difficult as it may be, because she needs someone to be vulnerable in front of, has needed someone, and he _knows_ that. While she has Angela, too, now, and to a certain degree her mother, he is her father, and she _wants_ to be able to be as close to him as she is to them, wants him to be included in her life, insofar as any civilian could be.

(She has done things he will never understand, in the line of duty, but she would not ask him to, would only want him to listen, to know, to be told of what it is she is feeling, what it is she has done and will yet continue to do, and to accept her, same as he did when she was a child, before she had killed anyone. A kind of penance.)

Perhaps what she wants is impossible, but she has seen enough of the impossible with Overwatch that she does not worry herself overmuch about it. Either this will work, or it will not, and either way, her father is worth trying for. What he wants is to be there for her, to be able to support her when she needs it—and that is what she wants from him, too, if only she could allow herself to have it, if only they could turn back the clock and she could choose not to push him away.

None of these things will she tell him, not directly. Instead, she will do things as she has always done them, directly, communicating her intent through her actions. Rather than saying she wants to be more open with him, she will be.

Simple.

Or, at least, simple in theory. As she stands, now, in front of the holoprojector she intends to call him with, she feels nervous, can barely repress the urge to fidget—a habit she thought she abandoned years ago.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out. Then eleven more, until she is certain she is calm.

The push of a button. _Call connecting_ says the screen, and yes, connecting, that is what this is about, if only she can.

Surprise is evident on her father's face when he answers—unless it is his birthday, or Father’s Day, or some other event, Fareeha never calls first.

 _Hello._ She hopes she does not look too nervous as she signs the word.

 _Hello,_ he answers, smiling broadly, before something seems to occur to him and his face forms a question, _You calling why?_

Before he has a chance to worry, she answers, _Not trouble. Just want talk._

 _Talk only?_ His face makes the question, and she cannot fault him for not necessarily believing her.

 _Yes,_ she answers. _Talk only. No trouble, promise. Me healthy, mother healthy, all OK._

 _OK,_ he answers, _talk only._

But what to say? After a half decade of rarely calling, Fareeha is not sure what to say to her father. Small talk seems too little, and is not conducive to fulfilling her goal of actually reconnecting to her father in any meaningful way, but it feels strange to say much more.

 _Missed you,_ she signs, and it is a compromise. While she is admitting to feelings the statement is not really an unusual one, and could be mistaken for a pleasantry if it was anyone else.

 _Missed you also,_ he answers her. _House too big at holiday._ Which one, he does not specify. All of them, probably.

 _Strange without Mom,_ she says, and it is not an excuse, but it _sounds_ like one. Better to change topics before they get to apologizing. _Strange with her also._

 _She there?_ he asks, and looks—not hopeful, his face is too tempered for that, but something approaching it.

 _No, I-L-I-O-S. Only mean..._ What did she mean? She is not sure. Her father waits patiently as she gathers her thoughts, and her courage. _Only mean that her here, you not. Feel strange now._

 _Understand. She make strange everything._ In this context, the statement could almost be a negative one, but for his expression as he makes the word—the chaos Ana brings to his simple life has never been, for him, unwelcome.

 _Yes,_ agrees Fareeha, and then adds, _Emotion make strange._ It is not only her mother she thinks of when she says that.

 _Ana back,_ he says, using the sign name he gave her so many years before, _You feel how?_

 _Happy,_ a blink, a pause, signaling the end of a sentence. _Angry. Both together. Confused also. She apologized, true business._ Adding true business has never felt more appropriate—if ever there was something unbelievable, it was this.

 _Apologized?_ He looks incredulous. _She? More strange and more strange._

 _She sorry. Not because leaving,_ and Fareeha doubts that even if her mother does feel it, she will ever admit to being sorry for that, _because me hurt._

 _Understand that. Happy she apologized, sorry you hurt._ A pause, as if he worries the asking will spook her, _Hurt still?_

 _Yes. Less but yes. More happy._ And it is true, for the first time in a long time. Overall, she is happy, with her mother, with her life, with _herself._

_That good. You deserve feel happy._

_You also,_ and she almost says more, almost adds that she wants to make him happy, to make him proud of her, to mend things between them. Instead, she leaves it at that.

A lapse in conversation, before her father gives her a sly grin and begins signing again. _Room look nice—unusual nice. Not your work. Girlfriend?_

 _My work!_ Fareeha objects. If anything, she is the one who has convinced Angela to be neater. _But girlfriend, also. Messy girlfriend._

 _She has good taste,_ her father replies, and Fareeha is not sure if he means Angela's choices in decorating their shared quarters or her choice of girlfriends. Knowing him, it may very well be both. _Tell more._

Fareeha almost, _almost_ replies saying Angela does, indeed, have _a_ good taste, but then remembers who she is talking to and thinks the better of it. A joke for a different audience.

 _Her introduce can,_ Fareeha suggests. _She here._

 _She sign? Not want 'train-gone' like before._ This is the first time her father has made any comment about the times they visited the base, in all the years since, and it catches Fareeha off-guard. She thinks it is probably a good thing, that he feels it _can_ be brought up, but it stings a bit.

_Not how before, and she sign... but bad._

_How much bad?_ Her father seems to be considering the idea.

 _Very bad._ Fareeha answers. _Very, very bad._

She must make a face, because her father is laughing as he asks, _she learning?_

_Yes, she learning._

_Time next?_ he suggests, and Fareeha is glad for the assumption that there will be a next time—certainly, it is her hope too.

 _Yes, time next. She improve will. You both talk then._ Despite her aptitude for many other things, Angela has not been a quick study at signing—but Fareeha knows that she tries very hard, and so improvement is inevitable, if not swift.

 _Good,_ her father nods. _We talk will. You tell me more now._

So Fareeha does, and finds that, like this, when she has already admitted to some vulnerability, and decided not to hide the rest of it, words come easier to her than they have in many years. They are able to smile and to laugh and some things... some things are yet sensitive, but they do not skirt around such feelings, and so the conversation does not end there, the call is not abruptly disconnected after they have slipped into an uncomfortably long pause. Instead, things are addressed—even if they are only yet touching upon the surface of those issues—and moved past, and rather than making the conversation unbearably awkward, those moments end as the subject changes.

(Fareeha cannot help but think her conversations with her mother have a long way to go before they reach this point, that the distance between she and her father was much more easily resolved. A part of her is resentful, thinks her parents' different dispositions are somewhat to blame for the outcomes, wishes her mother could be more open, less guarded. But she does her best to dismiss the bitterness, for the time being. That is for she and her mother to deal with, on their own, and her father does not deserve to bear the brunt of her feelings for her mother any longer.)

The conversation is the first real one Fareeha has had with her father in years, so there is much to say, too much for one call, and she hangs up not regretting the things which she did not have time to tell him, but looking forward to the next time she can. It is strange, and imperfect, but she feels hopeful, nonetheless. For now, she is satisfied. The train has been caught, and she will see where the tracks lead her.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to avoid using too many idioms to make this easy to understand as possible for those of you who don't sign, and to explain in text the ones I did use but just in case:
> 
> Translations:  
> Train-gone: Like a conversational "you had to have been there." Basically, if you missed what was signed/meant the other conversation participants can't/won't backtrack for you  
> True business: Said for emphasis, particularly when something is unbelievable, kind of like "no joke" or "really"
> 
> Additionally, although the grammar and word choice is _mostly_ accurate, I did bend convention in order for this to be read easier. The bit with _Not how before_ should have been _Not example before_ , for example, but that was... not as easy for people to read, and I wanted to be clear that her meaning is roughly that "It won't be how it was then."


End file.
